


Loneliness is History

by HanginWithLilJ (FlyDizzeeD)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Mild Blood, Overstimulation, Ryan is trans btw, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scratching, Sub Geoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyDizzeeD/pseuds/HanginWithLilJ
Summary: When life becomes too much to handle, Geoff has people he can fall back on. People who will make sure he has absolutely nothing to worry about.





	Loneliness is History

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Drilled a Wire Through My Cheek by Blue October. Listened to that song a few hundred times while writing this. Enjoy.

A deep breath out followed by a hitched breath in, cut off as Geoff's world goes soft around the edges. Clear vision is traded for over-sensitive skin, highlighting every touch against his bare chest and shoulders; the fingers that lightly touch the ink on his body before nails dig in and drag along the designs, the teeth at his throat, and the set of hands flattened against his chest and shoving him down into the bed. His whole body shakes. His muscles tense and relax in turn. A body slowly lowers onto him, covering him, setting every inch of him on fire. There's whispering in his ears, but the words mean nothing when the mouth they come from says far more by simply biting down.

Geoff wants to speak but breathing alone is hard enough that he doesn't even try. The hands holding him down begin to move. Strong fingers spread out and curl along the curve of his ribs, pressing hard enough that he'll have bruises tomorrow. Then they move faster, all along his torso, nails dragging long red lines as he suddenly finds his voice and cries out, a strained plea. The mouth leaving hickeys on his neck pulls away and is replaced by more hands. Those ones rub his shoulders quickly before curling around either side of his neck, the fingertips of each hand meeting at his Adam’s apple and the thumbs sliding behind his ears. The threat alone draws a broken, high-pitched moan from him. He desperately tries to keep up with the input as his being is wrapped in another, the larger body enveloping his effortlessly and blocking him from the world. A few moments go by, his head starts to clear, and words are exchanged between the two who decide exactly what he feels and when. His brain falters and breaks entirely when assertive hips fuck down against him, dragging across him and making the rough denim of his jeans chafe his cock.

The hips move again, and don't stop moving, humping single-mindedly and forcing more noise from him. He loses it all for a moment, sees nothing but black and hears nothing but ringing before he crashes back into himself and feels the blood on his chin and tastes the iron in his mouth. His tongue darts along his top teeth, blood-stained from mercilessly biting his bottom lip, which has gone numb. He doesn't notice the lack of hands on his throat until one is shoving leather in his mouth. Instinctively, he bites down. The wallet between his teeth takes the force easily, stuffed with enough cash and cards to keep his jaw open wide. The other pair of hands, he now realizes, have an ironclad grip on his pale hips. The sweat coating his body doesn't bother that grip at all and when he tries to meet the hips brutally grinding down into him, those hands bear down harder and practically glue his waist to the bed. The sheets are clinging to his slick back. His neck is covered again, but this time breathing becomes noticeably more difficult. Slowly, the grip on his neck increases to near the point of the one on his hips, cutting off most of his air as he wheezes around the wallet and through his nose. His eyes shed some tears. His cock leaks pre.

There's a peace lingering all over him, all around him, penetrating his skin and digging deep into his bones. Nobody here has a single expectation of him. Nobody here will ask anything of him. And, in contrast to the setting, nobody here will hurt him. There's blood on his neck from the teeth piercing there earlier, just barely. The scratches all over his body are red and raised. His neck will be massively bruised within minutes and his jaw already hurts from the wallet he's leaving dents in. All of it is wonderful, and he's just about to black out once more when the hips still and the hands release his throat. A loud, pained whine breaks from his throat and sounds around the wallet without his permission, followed by quieter whimpers and a violent shiver through his body, head to toe. He's ready to spit the wallet out, ready to beg, when suddenly his jeans are unzipped and his dick, raw from the brutal denim, is assaulted by cold air. He squirms and his shoulders hitch as a few silent sobs rake him. Geoff only calms down when separate pairs of hands start gently petting him, two rubbing circles on his hips and two sliding up and down his shoulders and arms.

His stillness lasts mere seconds before everything is immediately going ten times faster. Roughly, a hand wraps around his sensitive cock and starts jerking him. It's messy and uncaring, riling him up. The other hand returns to its earlier chore of holding his hips down and preventing any movement. He's reminded this way that his pleasure is not within his control, and the knowledge that there's really nothing for him to decide floods him with even more relief. His cock twitches as pre-cum oozes from the tip, trying to lubricate when the dry hand pumping him keeps at it. The other pair of hands has moved to his ribs. They pinch the skin along the bottom set roughly, making him flinch, and keep up the treatment until making it to his collarbones. A trail of small, circular bruises are left in their wake.

His body is electric, his skin is on fire, and his brain feels like it's sloshing around in water. But just as he reaches the top, everything stops. He's left hanging there, dangerously close to the edge and looking out upon an empty expanse. Then there's hands, no longer on his cock, pulling him the other way and back down the mountain. Gentle hands, rubbing down his thighs. Gentle hands, massaging his tense shoulders and combing through his sweaty hair. He feels raw. He feels like his skin has been peeled away, layer by layer, and the whole world around him can see inside of him. The only thing protecting him from those harsh elements are the hands petting all over him, reassuring him that he's still here. His eyes are barely open. His chest is heaving. The wallet falls to the side as his jaw goes slack, his chin coated with drool. He's there. He's right there. But he isn't, he's here, and here is where they've decided he'll remain, at least for now. It isn't his call. It isn't his responsibility. The tears from earlier are back, hastily running down his cheeks and filled with a dizzying mixture of frustration and relief. 

Hands hook under his armpits and strong arms pull him backwards until he's propped up against an equally strong chest, half sitting up. He makes no effort to ease his weight from the other, instead going totally limp. Once he's situated properly, the hand is back in his hair and lips are on his neck instead of teeth. The lips kiss gently along the bruises, licking at the remaining blood and ghosting warm breath across his skin. 

Before long there's new weight in the mixture, this time on Geoff himself, settled on his lap. The pressure gives him more calm, taking his thoughts away from anything even remotely useful. He soaks up the warmth all around him, enjoys the nearly suffocating heat. His arms are lifted and moved without any of his input, a weak noise leaving his throat when his hands are held and then kissed, light touches of lips on his knuckles and palms. 

On some level, he's terrified. He's cut open and everything is laid out for the two to see. Every flinch, every sigh, every moan and sob. It's something he doesn't dwell on, doesn't even get the chance to pay time to because suddenly his dick is being grabbed again and then--

A scream. It tears through him, loud and desperate and beyond grateful as his dick is wrapped in wet heat. Geoff has no time to process before he's being ridden, used like he's just a conveniently placed tool. It's too much. He writhes and moans, panting between harsh noises as one pair of hands grabs his shoulders to hold steady while the other wraps around his chest in an attempt to hold him somewhat still. He tilts his head back, shows off his marked up neck, yelps when teeth are back and more cruel in the way they bite down right over a previous mark, reopening the wound and leaking small, weak streams of blood down his throat. The room is filled with his noises, in every manner. He feels the walls surround him clench occasionally, spasming in tune to shameless arousal. He's forced back up the mountain, walked right to the edge, and ready to jump into the release.

The world freezes all around him, but the pressure remains. It's the only sort of pressure he can take at this point, and it's waiting there, tight around him, just at the tip, and refusing to move.

He needs it to move.

He's still crying, never really stopped, and the gross sob that comes from his chest has effects through his whole body. His shoulders spasm, his legs squirm, and his cock jumps. Hips slam back down onto his with a powerful roll and Geoff steps into nothing, landing on everything.

The hips keep moving as he cums, the wet hole he's deep inside only getting wetter. There's cursing above him, the mouth leaves his neck, and the words are suddenly replaced by what sounds like sloppy, rushed kissing just over his head. The only sound he's personally capable of making is whimpering as his spent dick is used for someone else's pleasure. All of it is seeping into him, needles shoving in and pushing him even further over the limit. Every movement around his cock is too much. The feedback is overwhelming and absolutely divine. A while passes where he's simply existing, coasting, soft and entirely drained. He doesn't know at what point the other cums, too lost in his own quiet world.

When Geoff finally regains some semblance of clarity, he realizes he's in an entirely different place. The sheets below him are no longer soaked with his own sweat. He also realizes he's fully clothed in soft fleece pyjamas. The fabric keeps his skin from coming into contact with much else, long sleeves being the barrier between himself and too many sensations. It's dark, but once he becomes capable of making connections he immediately knows where he is. He sighs and shoves his face into the soft pillow his head is on, breathing in deeply. The scent is easy on him. But he's not quite content. He's the only one in the bed, and all the empty space around him is just a bit too much for him. He whines and rolls around a bit, impatiently.

“Alright, alright. I hear you, calm down.” A voice says, gentle but with a chuckle on the end. He huffs and whines again, louder. 

“Hurry up before he implodes, Ryan.” The same voice calls, as quiet as possible, to the bathroom. 

Geoff thrashes a bit in annoyance, kicking at the sheets. “Jack.” He says, voice muffled as he shoves his face into the pillow again. Before he has more time to whine, the bed dips and then Jack is pulling Geoff onto his chest, laughing when the other man wraps around him. It's only a moment before another body joins them, Ryan snuggling in as close as he can. “Sorry,” he says, “I was cleaning up.” 

Humming, Geoff shifts so he's effectively laying on top of both men. He relaxes and sighs as a hand cards through his hair.


End file.
